Bill Weasley Has A Tiny Willy Just Ask Charlie
by luvscharlie
Summary: Holidays in the cold Romanian wilderness heat up when more than one Weasley is in the country at a time. Bill/Charlie sort of gen


_Bill Weasley Has A Tiny Willy (just ask Charlie) _by Luvscharlie

_Warnings: Immature boys, language, sex talk, poor traumatized parents, and the sad waste of chocolate__._

_A/N: Originally written for the 2010 mini_fest on Live Journal where the prompt was Charlie/anyone—"It gets awfully lonely in Romania in the middle of the winter. But then there's vodka and unexpected company. I really wanted to play up that "unexpected company" part of the prompt, and this is what came out of it. Thank you mugglemama for the beta work. _

* * *

It was the knock on the cabin door that dragged Charlie from the kitchen where he'd been busy warming up some leftovers that the Reserve's cook had brought by before leaving on his own holiday trip. Someone had to stay behind and look after the dragons. They didn't exactly celebrate holidays, regardless of what their keepers did, and Charlie didn't mind being the one to stay and look after them… mostly. The food certainly wasn't a perk, but the holiday pay was rather rewarding. He looked down at the leftovers and pulled a face. It could barely be considered food if the truth be told. The dragons would probably even turn their noses up at it, and they'd taken a bite out of fellow keeper Johan the week before, so they certainly did not have disparaging taste. Just ask anyone who'd ever dated Johan.

The knock at the cabin door grew more persistent.

"I'm coming. Keep your shirt on." Charlie tossed aside the less than edible container of food and padded to the door in sock-clad feet. "If you're coming to collect the money for those bloody biscuits, I'm not paying. I chipped my tooth on the last batch. Homemade, my arse." The grumbling continued when he opened the door, but he stopped short when he saw his tanned, good-looking, smarmy as hell older brother standing there. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I missed you too." Bill made a kissy face and pushed past him, shoving his overnight bag at Charlie, without waiting for an invite. "And who the hell comes out to sell biscuits in snow that deep?"

"Blueberry Troop 319." In response to Bill's raised eyebrow, Charlie considered clarifying about the tenacity of the pre-Durmstrang aged girl guides troop that frequented the Reserve to peddle their wares. Those were not normal little girls; they were biscuit selling machines, and nothing deterred them. Not even the nasty Romanian weather. Instead, Charlie turned to his smiling sibling and demanded, "Now, why the fuck _are_ you here?"

"Mum's worried about her ickle baby boy up here in the big, scary Romanian wilderness all alone for the holidays." Bill's tone took on one of mocking baby talk, and Charlie considered kicking him.

"Mum's worried." Charlie yawned, disinterested. "Must be a day that ends in 'Y'. Don't tell me you came all the way from Egypt just to tell me that." He looked back at the recently discarded food. "Oh, and tell me there's biscuits in here, or even better, some of Mum's cooking." He patted Bill's overnight bag, took in the fact that the overnight bag meant Bill was sticking around and called dibs on his bed before Bill got it in his head that the older brother got first choice of where to sleep.

"Keep this up and I'm going to think you don't want me here, Charlie Boy."

Charlie was just about to bite out a nasty retort when he saw the bottle of vodka Bill removed from inside his cloak. "And I brought you a present and everything. Guess I'll just catch a Portkey back to Egypt. Me, my bottle, Mum's homemade sweets, and-"

"Don't be so hasty, Big Brother," Charlie said, attempting to take the bottle from Bill's hand and meeting with a bit of resistance. "It would be ungracious of me to send you home. I mean, you came all this way." The Reserve, as a rule, didn't allow alcohol and hadn't for years. There was an unfortunate incident with a couple of rookie trainees who'd gotten completely pissed one night and decided to rope themselves a dragon. As might be imagined, that went less than well, and the Reserve had faced some serious liability that had almost got them shut down. Charlie hadn't had so much as a Butterbeer in months. Just the sight of the bottle in Bill's hands had Charlie salivating in anticipation.

"Uh-huh. Absolutely inhospitable," Bill deadpanned. "Whatever would Mum think?"

"Wouldn't want that," Charlie said. "Can't have you go telling Mum that the Romanian wilderness has made me forget my manners." He sped toward the kitchen. "I'll get the glasses." The words tumbled out in a jumble in his haste to get the cork out of that bottle and his eagerness for the taste of that alcohol on his tongue.

Charlie was already kicked back on the sofa downing his first gulp before Bill had even shrugged out of his heavy cloak. "Hey," Charlie said, pouring himself a second glass. "How'd you get this past the wards? No one's supposed to be able to get past the wards with alcohol."

"Hello! Curse breaker. It's kind of what I do, you know." Bill gave a proud-of-himself shrug. "And I'm bloody good at it."

"Modest, too," Charlie muttered. But even Bill being a bit of a braggart wasn't going to ruin Charlie's evening now. He sighed and looked lovingly at the bottle. "Now, that's what I call putting your magical skills to good use."

Bill took up his own glass and stood by the fire. Charlie considered saying something about Egyptian boys not being cut out to handle the harsh Romanian winters, but the thoughts were erased from his mind when Bill started talking.

"Saw your girl last week," were the only words that registered in Charlie's quickly-becoming-fuzzy mind.

"My girl? What girl? I haven't seen a pretty girl in about as many months as I've not had alcohol." He snarled his nose. "Why did I want this job again?"

"'Cause you're daft. It's fucking frigid here. Give me sand and sun any day. And since when is Dora Tonks not your girl?"

Charlie sat bolt upright from his previously relaxed reclining position on the sofa and the room spun a bit. "You saw Dora? No shit? God, I haven't seen her in forever. How's the old girl doing?" Dora Tonks. It had been a long time since he had thought about his former flame.

"She's excellent. Well, she's excellent _now_." Bill's smile stretched cross his face as he tossed back his glass and gulped.

His upper lip curled and his eyebrows raised suggestively, giving Charlie pause. He was rather certain that he wasn't going to like where this conversation was going. Sure, he and Tonks were finished and had been for a good while, but there were lines that brothers didn't cross, and he was already too drunk to aim his wand and effectively hex Bill so that his bollocks shrivelled up—a new spell he'd just been dying to try, by the way. He was starting to think Bill had given him the alcohol first on purpose, to slow Charlie's reflexes, since he knew Charlie was clearly the better wizard. What? He was! It didn't matter what Bill said, and the number of N.E.W.T.s one got shouldn't be given consideration in the determination of better wizard-ness. It just shouldn't… at least not when it gave Bill the upper hand by several.

Charlie asked his next question with a bit of trepidation. "Where'd you see Dora? Can't imagine she'd have call to be dredging through the sands of Egypt." He took his wand out of his pocket … just in case. It never hurt to be prepared.

Bill never even gave Charlie's wand a second glance. Some people were annoyingly confident fat heads. "Well, little brother, it seems that the Auror Academy disagrees. They seem to think that their new trainees could benefit from a bit of a crash course in curse breaking. So I happened to be Dora's mentor when they came over to Cairo."

"Um-hmm," Charlie said sarcastically. "Never know where you might encounter an evil pyramid, you know, outside Egypt. I'd hate for Dora to find herself caught in that trap. Good thinking there, Aurors." He snorted his disbelief that Aurors could be so stupid.

Bill was unflappable. He carried on as though Charlie's sarcasm meant nothing to him, and Charlie had a good notion that it was because it didn't. "So, to answer your question, Charlie Boy, I saw Dora in Egypt… in the pyramids."

Charlie almost had a chance to breathe out his sigh of relief. But, Bill was too quick for him.

"Then I saw her again—_all_ of her, that is, when she exited my bed the next morning. Nice arse, that one. And when she's letting me shove my cock into it—Mmmm, delicious."

Charlie saw red… for a moment. It occurred to him that Bill might only be trying to have a go at him, but then there was the fact that Dora had always had a bit of a _thing_ for Bill, and he didn't put it past her to jump at the opportunity to be with his brother, even if it was just to teach Charlie a lesson for running off to the wilds of Romania, rather than staying in England and taking that offer to play Quidditch for England and stay with her.

Charlie took a couple of calming drinks and did what Charlie did best—live in denial. Bill was certainly just having him on. That's all. Dora would never—only she completely would. Dora was not above revenge. In fact, revenge was just her style.

"She said I was the best she'd ever had," Bill said, running his tongue over his bottom lip before taking a sip of his vodka. "And that tattoo of a hippo on her bum is kind of cute. Can't really say I understand the significance of it, but she sure seems attached to it."

Charlie began to laugh so hard he nearly fell off the sofa. "Hah! Caught you. You amateur bull-shitter! You did _not_ sleep with _my_ Dora."

"Fuck," Bill said with a grin. "Busted. It was the tattoo wasn't it. I went too far. It's not a hippo, is it?"

It was true, Bill never did know when to quit. He'd almost had Charlie there too, but when Bill lied he did this fluttery thing with his eyelids and he couldn't exactly keep eye contact for more than a second or two. He'd got them busted so many times when they were kids. Charlie'd got wise to his failings when he'd hid in a cupboard one day and heard his mum lamenting about how she could always tell when her boys were fibbing. Charlie, she said, looked at his toes, rather than at her. He'd made an effort not to do that anymore after hearing how his mum was on to him, and his fibbing skills had got much improved. "Nope," Charlie said, grinning at Bill. "It's completely a hippo. And she loves wearing those low cut denims so everyone can see him—his name's Homer, by the way—don't even ask, it's a long story—peeking out at them. Nope, it wasn't the tattoo that ratted you out."

"If it wasn't the tattoo, then how'd you know I was lying?"

"It was that part about you being the best she'd ever had. Even the thought of you being better than me in bed is ridiculous. Not even possible." No reason to go giving away secrets.

"In your dreams, little brother." Bill snorted.

"Nah, in Dora's. You know, she used to fantasise about having us both." Charlie swallowed hard, and then went on. "You know, me and you and her—all together. Confessed it one night when she was pissed."

"What'd you think about that?" Bill said the words as though he didn't really care, but he was wiping his palm on his thigh, another nervous habit that Charlie recognised from their youth spent in a shared bedroom.

"I dunno. I was pretty upset at first that she was thinking of you like _that_, but then I guess the idea sort of grew on me, 'cause I'd find the thought wandering into my dreams late at night." He looked over at Bill to gauge his reaction, and when Bill didn't jump up to call him queer or to even look appalled, Charlie was encouraged to go on. Of course, the vodka probably played a large part in loosening his tongue for the confession.

"A fantasy, huh?"

Charlie grinned. "Parts of it were. Other parts, namely the thought of your big hairy arse and your tiny little willy anywhere near me, were more like nightmares."

"I've got you by a good four inches, and you know it." Bill was already unfastening his belt before Charlie could complete his protest that Bill was a bloody liar and the truth wasn't in him. Bill was standing before him, trousers and pants down around his knees, stroking his cock to erection (it didn't count if they weren't hard—or so said Bill). Charlie, still supine on the sofa, was trying to make his fingers work enough to unbuckle his own belt; the vodka wasn't helping. Bill leaned over and began to unfasten Charlie's trousers with the hand that wasn't grasping his own cock when it became clear Charlie wouldn't be able to do it himself.

And wouldn't you know it, that's when it happened. There was a shriek of horror from the fireplace, where the Floo had activated, and their mother stood there with her mouth open, and her hands covering her lips. The cake she'd been carrying was now on the floor. Bloody shame too, it had been chocolate, Charlie noted, and chocolate was his favourite.

"It's not what it looks like," Bill declared, spinning so that his cock bounced and their mother closed her eyes.

"I do not want to know!" Molly shrieked. "You pull up your pants, this instance, Bill Weasley!"

"No, Mum, really. We were only comparing cock sizes, that's all. It wasn't anything more than that. I could pull a much better bloke than the likes of him… you know, if I wanted."

Their father, who had bent down to try and scrape up the cake from the floor, looked up and shook his head. "Yes, because that sounds so much better. You might want to quit while you're ahead there, son."

"I won." Charlie giggled drunkenly. "Mine's way bigger than that tiny little thing Bill's got. Wanna see?"

Bill tugged up his trousers, his face as red as his flaming locks and shook his head in utter humiliation, then clocked Charlie behind the ear. "Shut it, fuckwit."

* * *

It took Arthur's repeated consoling and a few embarrassing stories from his own childhood about him and his brothers to convince Molly that their sons were immature morons, but probably, that was all. Probably. Boys will be boys and all that rot.

Charlie had been obviously drunk, so his mother spent the next several months Owling him literature about the dangers of alcohol. He certainly came out the winner in the whole ordeal though.

Poor Bill became his mother's new "project." She was dead set to find him a nice young girl to settle down with, as now she was convinced he was confused, leaning towards liking boys a bit too much, and she would never have grandchildren by her oldest son. Well, not if she had anything to say about it. His mum was very pro-grandchildren.

The biggest travesty of all, if you asked Charlie (his mother didn't, just for the record), was that Molly Weasley's chocolate cake had been unsalvageable. What a sad waste of a perfectly delicious dessert.


End file.
